


How to Raise a Psychopath

by Bakatsuki21



Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Other, POV First Person, The Sims 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakatsuki21/pseuds/Bakatsuki21
Summary: It was supposed to be a beautiful, simple family with gag-worthy romance, hard-working households, and a silly child that could do no harm... but life doesn't work out so cleanly does it? The child has an amazing memory and ability to learn... but the child isn't okay. He sees things differently. Maybe a little too differently...





	How to Raise a Psychopath

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my first actual play-through of The Sims.  
> I was shocked at how well this story just kind of happened, so I needed to put some emotion and thought behind it because the opportunity was just too great.  
> Since I haven't finished the play-through yet I can't say what all the tags will be, but I will try to update them whenever possible.  
> Thanks for your understanding and patience with this!

Sleepless nights slowly but systematically replaced the smiles once worn by two adults. Until recently, the two were well off and happy in a way. They knew few hobbies and even fewer people, but they worked hard and carved up a life for themselves, proficient in their work and romantic in their love. Their life was undergoing a big change, but they would be strong enough to meet the challenges that awaited them. 

At least, that's what others would summarize them with. I, for one, would use much... different words. Before that, let me tell you a story. A series of stories that told the story of one, if you prefer another kind of accuracy. From the stories I shouldn't remember to the freshest ones I have to offer, documented softly with red-brown ink of my friends.

The first story I have for you follows my unsteady self, who concentrated on few things at once. Fresh to the world, I was unable to do many of the things I observed others doing; walking up and down stairs, throwing things together in a pan to make food, and holding in my own waste were among these many things I was incapable of. My parents were the people I observed the most. How could I not? They lived here too... but living in that house meant something very different from being trapped there. They would leave for long periods of time, dropping me off at a screaming cesspool of tears and unchanged diapers they called a daycare. 

There was a time where my parents went back and forth with sending me to a daycare and not, but when they didn't send me away, they hired a nanny. It seemed like they couldn't be bothered to stay with me. Perhaps there was something wrong with me, I would think, but that thought disappeared later in life when I learned what a job was. The first time a nanny was hired she got so incredibly stressed her face contorted in disturbing ways. She'd get mad at me when I cried for food or screamed for attention. Turns out those weren't the right ways to ask, but I couldn't have known that then. The second time was the same nanny, but the house was a mess. Completely disgusted, she picked a fight with my parents. They stopped calling the nanny for a while and hired a maid.

The maid did his job well, he even cleaned up after me a few times. He always came on time and was possibly the closest thing I could link with the word reliable. Once my parents were satisfied that the arrangement worked, they hired a nanny again. It was the same one, but I found out that time if I was still and quiet, her face would not contort into the demonic flux of wrinkles it used to. The fourth time was the final time I would ever see her though, as she tried to fix something that broke and electrocuted herself. I don't remember if she died or not, I just know we don't have an urn for her.

At the same time that nanny had stopped showing those evil expressions on her face, my parents also showed more comfort around me. I used to scream and holler for things I wanted because I just knew I needed them, but when they ignored these pleas and got mad at me like the nanny did, I simply quieted myself and sat still. I began to learn and depend on an amazing thing called independence. Of course, I still had a long way to go before I was actually independent, but I worked hard on motor function and communication at daycare and potty skills at home. In my free time I entertained something else astonishing I'd discovered – imagination. I played and dreamed to fill my time, and on occasion, I spoke to a large, brown teddy bear that I could swear I heard my parents name “Blarffy”.

In one of the following days, Father was cooking a meal for himself. Mother and Father hung out with each other a little less every day as their sleep schedules misaligned themselves, and he was groggy. It took him a while to realize there was a fire, let alone that the fire had engulfed the stove, sink, fridge, and most horrifyingly, himself. Or maybe less horrifyingly. I wasn't sure at that point. My initial reaction was one of fear and concern, but I was just a toddler, so new I couldn't get down the stairs yet. All I could do was watch as my father screamed and panicked, frantically moving around in place, right in the middle of the burning kitchen at the base of the stairs. Mother, I could see, stood outside the window, doing nothing but looking shocked. Neither attempted to carry me out of the house, but that was probably a good thing because I doubt my father's flaming arms would have been very comfortable, and knowing the way the world had worked so far, that was the option that would have come for me. Eventually, Father finally got his bearings and extinguished the fire, then replaced all the burned furniture. Mother and Father didn't hang out at all after that. She watched TV whilst he slept, or he gardened whilst she slept. They stopped speaking entirely.


End file.
